


Double Exposure

by BritaniaVance



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Crossing Timelines, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Post-Canon, Romance, dual timelines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BritaniaVance/pseuds/BritaniaVance
Summary: When faced with the most difficult decision of her young life, Max sacrifices Chloe at her best friend's insistence, sealed with a kiss. As Max copes with the aftermath of the storm, she finds herself dreaming of Chloe and the life they might have had ... Yet, as Max rides shotgun in Chloe's busted up truck down the highway leaving Arcadia Bay, she can't help but feel that she's betrayed everyone by leaving them to the storm despite how excited she is to start a new life. Or is it the other way around? After the storm passes, Max begins to simultaneously dream of a world where she saved Chloe and a world where Arcadia Bay still stands - that is, until sleeping meshes with the waking world. As Max grapples with which of her realities is the real one, she realizes that she may not be able to have the best of both worlds.





	1. Waking Life

It all began with a blue butterfly.

Luminescent wings that shimmered enough to rival the shafts of sunlight filtering in from outside, fluttering fast enough that Max wondered whether it was moving out of time.

 _Out of time_.

In those moments between sleep, her wrists still felt glued together with duct tape, her skin pelted with rain, her mouth against Chloe’s, all while sitting in the din of Mr. Jefferson’s classroom, waiting for it all to unwind and unfold again.

“Hey, Max?”

It was all so present, it still felt _here_ , yet somehow also outside herself at the same time. Instant replay. Rewind, relive it all over again.

“Max, you holding up okay?”

A desperate and tired voice reached out to her, and Max sifted hopelessly through mountains of photos to find the one that was speaking to her.

_“Max!”_

Maxine Caulfield opened her eyes to the open road. White knuckles gripped the open window, and the cool night air whipped her awake.

“Chloe?” her voice was groggy, still so very far away.

“Hey, _hey_ Max, I’m here.” Chloe’s hand inched towards her idle one as she kept her eyes on the road as best she could, her blue irises flickering over to Max’s in the interim. Warmth blossomed at the center of Max’s chest, spreading and settling over her despite the fresh air whipping at her messy, unkempt hair. Without thinking, without flinching, Max’s fingers latched onto Chloe’s. Her hands were clammy, but they were _real_. She was _here_. She was _solid_. She was at her side.

Chloe smiled, the warmth reaching her eyes for the first time in days. Max inhaled, memories rushing in just as quickly as she released them. She turned her eyes to the road, and watched as the trees sped past them, bringing them closer to LA, to where they hoped to find Rachel - in spirit, anyway.

Her head pounded, but Chloe helped. It had been a few days, and the ride wasn’t easy. She’d have to answer to her parents soon, but at least they knew she was safe. As for Chloe’s parents, and Arcadia Bay, well… The nightmares sure weren’t helping.

Sleep was seldom, but when it came, it barreled through her brain like the storm on the shore. Flashes of memory, floods of feeling: guilt, regret, loss. Her chest still felt cavernous at times, gnawed at and hollow, yet heavy and forever hungry all at once. But before the nightmares could close in on her, there were always swathes of blue and butterfly’s wings, flashes of feathers like the one strung into Rachel’s golden hair: ripe with hope, love, and the promise of second chances. Chloe’s closeness always made waking up easier.

And there was something about being on the road, with only Chloe’s half-lit headlights to keep them company, that set it all straight. Max eased her grip on the window frame and fanned out her fingers, letting the wind nip at them and glide over and around her skin as if the night could envelop her. She had a feeling the nightmares had no intention of leaving her soon, but waking life felt like a dream – a _really good_ dream. Chloe squeezed Max’s hand gently, bringing her out of her thoughts. Their eyes met, and Chloe looked almost wistful, solemn yet spirited. There it was, the sadness in her eyes, and Max knew they would have to talk about all of this soon. It was impossible not to. But for now, it was just them and the road, and nothing else. Nothing else mattered, and nothing else ever would.

* * *

 

Max inhaled deeply as she closed her dorm door, leaning against it as it clicked shut. There was a moment where she considered not breathing out again, but the thought of Kate already sound asleep at her back made her stop. How could she think such a thing, after all that?

The room was dark, swathed in shadow and the dappled moonlight of only one moon this time. It was a mess, and rightly so. Her bed was unmade, littered with many of the photos that had once sprinkled her wall. There was a still a pile of half-read books on string theory and quantum physics on her desk, her laptop screen blinking feebly, reminding her of uninstalled updates. Lisa stood against the window, a silhouetted shrub standing strong against the night - another life she can at least congratulate herself for saving. Max laughed darkly at the thought before kicking off her shoes and shouldering out of the black shawl Victoria had lent her for the “occasion”. Her new deer pendant gleamed in the moonlight against her collarbone, glittering gold, a doe in the dark. _How familiar…_

Max sighed, sweeping the debris off her bed before laying on it face-down.

Chloe pleaded with her up on the cliff that night, her blue hair swirling about her face like the storm behind them. What would have happened had she chosen Chloe instead of Arcadia Bay? Would they ever be safe? Would death always come looking, waiting to take her away again?

Despite her choice, Chloe had smiled a genuine smile, looking as serene as she did when she had asked Max to take her own life in another world, another time. Maybe there was no escaping it, maybe this was the only way they could be together. She wanted to believe that she could still remember Chloe’s mouth on hers, but her lips were wet with rain and stinging cold, and all she could think of was how she wanted to make this moment last and all of the ways she could have otherwise. There was a fragment of feeling in her memory, a brief moment of warmth and nervous breath turned soft, eager, and gentle. But before she could focus on it, it was gone. It was how Max knew her powers had truly left her, even if she didn’t know where they came from in the first place.

She rolled over, glancing upside down at her book collection and debated finishing them, even if only for posterity. If anything, maybe she would feel at peace with everything. Maybe she will have come to the conclusion that everything happened for a reason, or for no reason at all – either way, Max hoped she’d feel okay with whatever realization came first. But she wasn’t there yet, not by a long shot.

Her necklace gleamed in the moonlight, catching her attention again, as if from beyond the grave. How did Kate know? In the glow of the early morning, Kate had come up to Max with a gentle hand at her elbow, asking if she needed any company to the cemetery. Before walking with her, she had shyly gifted Max with the small pendant now shining in her palm. _“It’s sorta from that children’s book idea I had, do you remember?”_ she laughed nervously, the embarrassment painting her face as she continued. “ _It suits you. And I wanted to say thanks. For saving me. Even if-“_ and before she could apologize for Chloe, Max wrapped her arms around her and stayed there for a while.

“Thank you, Kate.” Max spoke gently to her empty room, promising to let her friend know just how much she was appreciated again the following day.

The warmth of the sun on campus earlier that day was unlike any other, as if the world knew it had a bit of making up to do. But at the same time, Max felt Chloe there, at peace. Maybe now she could be with Rachel again, finally.

Before making her way to the cemetery, arms linked with Kate, Max glanced back at the forest, almost expecting to see the doe again. The Tobanga stood sentinel, silent as always, but there was no doe to be seen.

The journey was over, for now - all Max had to do was figure out how to move forward.

Her eyes threatened sleep, heavy-lidded and throbbing in her skull. Max took a few deep breaths before closing them, hoping that she’d conjure up a decent dream about Chloe – maybe a nice one, this time. Or, dare she wonder or wish, forget about her for now, if only it were to get some rest.

The room swam into shadows, growing darker by the moment until the thickness of sleep consumed her and swallowed her whole.

Max became weightless and worriless, a content Nobody in the Void, merely existing in unconsciousness. Her bones unfurled, her muscles relaxed, and patterns began to swim before her closed eyelids.

And then headlights zoomed towards her, horns blaring, their wail growing louder and fiercer, before another pair of hands yanked the wheel from her and veered them in the nick of time from near certain death.

_“Max!”_

She was out of breath, and suddenly she came back to herself. She was solid, she was here, and she was _awake._

“Max, you’re scaring me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love saving _your_ life for a change, but you _really_ need to get some rest!”

It took a moment for Max to adjust, feeling like a ghost having just entered a living body for the first time in a century. The truck she was driving had skidded to a halt on the side of the road, the headlights boring into the line of trees on the other side. The engine thrummed loudly in her ears and gently rocked beneath her. She was no longer in her funeral dress, but in an unfamiliar tee and distressed jeans. Her hands were lax on the wheel, and a tattooed arm was still outstretched with fingers on its grip as its owner’s other hand put them in park.

“Come on, Max, I’ll drive again until we find a safe place to stop. We’ll get a motel if we have to.”

It was Chloe, her voice soft and reassuring, not brash and energetic for a change – but more importantly, she was _here_.

“Chloe –“ Max lurched over the middle console to envelop Chloe, who automatically wrapped her arms around her in return.

“I know, Max, I’m surprised we’re both alive, too. And I have you to thank for it. Well, except for whatever the hell _that_ was just now…”

Max pulled away just far enough to survey Chloe’s face, the gentle curve of her jaw, her smirking mouth.

“Can’t have you sleeping at the wheel like this, Mad Max.”

Chloe’s eyes were still wide from the near-collision, but Max could tell behind the surprise that she was pleased, too.

“Will you _please_ let me drive now? I know I said I wanted to get to LA _ASAP_ , but after the hell we’ve been through I’d at least like to keep my car intact. How else do you expect us to hustle once we get there?!”

Chloe smiled and Max let her switch seats, still reeling. She fastened her seatbelt, and as the fastener clicked, her head began to throb in her skull without mercy.

“Yeah, you _really_ need sleep, kiddo.”

“Kiddo?! I’m only a year younger than you, _geezer_.” Max quipped, nursing her temple.

“Hah, _geezer?_ That the best you got?” Chloe guffawed as she turned the key and revved the engine again, letting it thrum for a minute before slipping back into the night. She drove slowly at first and then picked up the speed once the truck seemed to find its groove, and then Chloe got serious again.

“So, what were you dreaming out, sleeping beauty?”

Max couldn’t tell if she was flirting or trying to broach a heavy subject lightly, though both were likely scenarios. Max opened her mouth, but then found that no words came out. Wait, what _had_ she been dreaming about? Was _this_ a dream?

“Wait, I –“

“Wow, Max, you really don’t look good.” Chloe’s eyes flashed, nervous and worried, before she reached back and pulled a blanket from the truck bed. “Try to get some shut eye, I’ll be fine.”

Everything suddenly felt real and faraway at the same time, as if trapped between sleeping and waking. Her memories felt distant, like ghost stories whose details she was slowly forgetting. She held an image of her dream in her mind for a moment, a glittering gold, but before she could explore the thought further, it slipped away into nothingness. But the cool, night air felt real, the truck felt real, and Chloe definitely felt real. She eyed Max as she adjusted in her seat, keeping her seatbelt buckled to which Chloe whispered “ _Dork,”_ Max kicked her gently and laughed, making sure not to send Chloe’s arm swerving like hers had earlier.

She wanted to sleep, but she was also afraid to dream, afraid to remember what brought them here. _It was all worth it, right? I’ll feel fine in the end. Soon. I have to._

Max’s eyes closed gently, watching Chloe focus on the road, before the blackness of sleep took over.

 

And when Max woke, she was fully clothed and back in her bed, at Blackwell.

 


	2. Take Me to Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max's realities are becoming muddled, and she's no longer sure of what she remembers, let alone what facts belong to what timeline.

_The cool night air caressed her face as she dozed off. Chloe’s free arm rested tentatively on her ankle, jolting her at times as if to test the solidity of her as she half-slept, listening to the truck barrel down the highway and the crickets cooing in the slumbering forests as they zoomed past._

Max was still shaking the images from her mind as she stood in line at the café with Kate, the latter nudging her elbow when it was her turn to order. Max stuttered, the barista watching her expectantly, before she glanced at the menu and said the first thing her eyes could read cogently.

“Uh, I’ll take, _uh_ , a green tea latte? Sorry, please.” Max’s face grew hot beneath her freckles – and red, too, she was sure. Kate laughed meekly beside her before ordering a jasmine green tea with honey for herself and handing the woman a Hamilton.

Max shot Kate a look, her eyes wide, but Kate only smiled.

“You can get the next round.”

Kate’s smile did not quite meet her hazel eyes, though there was still some warmth in them before the barista handed Kate her change. Their eye contact broken, Kate mouthed a silent _thank you_ and slipped a dollar bill and some coins into the tip jar. A week ago, Max was the one emphatically inviting Kate out for tea and doing what she could to make her smile after class. Something still bothered her, but Max hoped she would divulge her secret once they were safe in the comfort of their own private booth, warm beverages in hand. Though, Max had a feeling she knew what this was about.

They moved along to the other side of the counter where another barista was preparing their drinks. The weather was almost unseasonably warm, now, but Max liked the idea of tea. It calmed her nerves and it gave her a reason to escape Blackwell with Kate. Of all the other faces still lingering the halls in the aftermath, Kate’s was the most welcome one.

Max still had a hard time keeping things straight. The week had finally caught up with where she had left off with Chloe, in a time where the storm never came. This time, things remained calm and warm - despite the other inevitable things that unsettled Blackwell, of course, and everything that had happened before.

“Green tea latte?” The boy behind the counter asked. Max raised a hand in the air as if her attendance were being taken, and she took her marked cardboard cup.

Kate took the next cup, seeing her order written on the side before the barista could announce it. A man rubbed shoulders with her, startling her.

“Hey!” Max called out, extending an arm between Kate and the stranger. The man grunted, but after a moment he came to himself.

“Sorry, thought it was mine,” he said gruffly after seeing the eyes on him. Max calmed, but Kate was looking at her, worried.

“Max, are you okay?” she asked.

Her instincts almost allowed her to blurt _“No,”_ but Max stopped herself, inhaling and exhaling, calming her nerves with the sweet smell of warm milk and green tea from the cup in her hand.

“Yeah, sorry.” She muttered.

The man eyed her, half-sorry, half-annoyed, but Max couldn’t help but think of Mr. Jefferson and the binders in his bunker, all the photos she found. Max shuddered.

Taking a breath again, Max course corrected and smiled feebly, nodding in the direction of an empty table by the window. The café overlooked the water, like most everything else in Arcadia Bay. It’s what drew the tourists and made any money the town had left. Max wondered how the Prescotts would fare after all this Nathan business.

Max slid into the booth, admiring the view. It was the first time in days she hadn’t thought of the beached whales, the eclipse, the kaleidoscope moons hanging in the night sky. The memories were still there, but at the very back of her mind. For once, she admired the golden sands and the tumbling waves. She could even see the lighthouse from here.

Kate took the lid off her tea cup and let it air out, stirring the warm water as if it were a meditation practice. After a moment’s silence, she spoke.

“Max, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

Kate’s voice was uneven, anxious. Max looked up at her and saw that her eyes were darting, that her hands couldn’t decide on what to do with themselves.

Her brow furrowed, curious but concerned. Max was still unfamiliar with what had happened in this timeline exactly, so not everything was old news to her. But she knew something was up.

“Do you… do you remember that Vortex Club party? Last weekend?”

How could she forget? In another life, Max had spent her every waking moment learning about the party, gathering intel from anyone willing, trying to find out what Nathan did to Kate.

“Y-yeah,” she said shakily, fully aware that Kate knew nothing of that other life or what had happened in it.

“Well, I… I _went_ to that party.”

_Oh no, here we go._

Max expected this might happen, but hoped in her heart that things would be different, that Kate would stray from the roof and find some other means of comfort. As thankful as Max was about preventing Kate’s breakdown, the Vortex party still happened. Kate was still drugged, and had woken up without any knowledge of what had happened after Nathan promised to take her to the hospital.

Guilt wracked her with every tentative word that escaped Kate’s worried mouth, especially when Kate was so wonderfully sweet to her. She had given her the doe necklace after seeing how torn up she was with her childhood friend Chloe’s death. Max could tell that the party still weighted on her back then, but seeing Max so distraught and in utter need of friendship prevented her from worrying about herself. Victoria’s reactions to Nathan’s arrest stopped her from caring about Kate’s video, so it never went viral. There were only the whispers of those who were at the party, and that interest quickly quieted when a Blackwell dropout was found shot to death in the girl’s bathroom the following day.

But people still talked, and it had occupied most everyone’s minds the morning of. No one was sure whether it had happened or not, and with no video to back it up, most people chose not to believe it. “Kate? Kate Marsh? No way!” Without Victoria to fuel the fire, there was no school-wide rumor mill at work, no one looked at Kate more than they normally did. There were double-takes here and there, but no one lingered on her, no one really knew what happened that night. Except…

“I think- I think something happened to me that night.” Kate admitted, her voice almost ragged.

Max’s hand shot across the table to envelop Kate’s shaking one.

“What do you remember?”

Kate recounted the evening, her explanation almost verbatim to what she had said back in her dorm room in another life. She got dizzy and disoriented, Nathan promised to take her to the hospital, and when she awoke, she didn’t feel _right._

Max felt sick to her stomach. The dark room. Images of Kate lying near-lifeless in black-and-white photos resurfaced in her memory, but she couldn’t say anything. She had no explanation for knowing. And if she could spare Kate the heartache, well, shouldn’t she?

Max said nothing, but her expression must have spoken worlds to Kate.

“I know that sounds bad, right?” Kate’s soft voice whined, though her volume wasn’t much louder than a whisper. Her hazel eyes were wide and worrying, her fingers clasping Max’s in desperation now. How could she tell her?

“Nathan can’t hurt you now,” was all Max could muster. Last time, she and Kate had done all they could to lead the authorities in Nathan’s direction, to gather as much implicating evidence as they could. This time, there was no need for that. Not only was Nathan already awaiting trial for shooting Chloe, but Kate’s video hadn’t gone viral. Most of the students didn’t know about what had happened, and neither had her parents or her parish. Kate’s secret night out was safe, for now, or at least as safe as it could be.

“I want to believe that he didn’t,” Kate started, her eyes threatening tears, “But after, after what happened-“ her voice cracked when she thought of Chloe, when she recalled the gunshots that gathered all the other students to the girl’s bathroom.

Max pursed her lips as if she could quell the unease growing unsteadily within her. If Kate feared Nathan and his gun, she was blissfully unaware of what had actually happened, of the duct tape and the dark room. Kate feared dying more than she feared unintended promiscuity this time around. Maybe, _just maybe,_ things were better this way.

The less Kate knew about the dark room, the better, and still – Max felt all the worse for it.

“I know this might be weird, and I know I never asked you about this sort of thing, but-“ Kate stammered, one hand clasping her cup while the other reached for Max’s.

“You can tell me anything, Kate,” Max assured, her voice low. She could feel the fear behind her words, growing in her heart.

“Would you… would you go to church with me?” Kate winced, as if she expected a negative reaction. “I’m-I’m not trying to convert you or anything, but I mean, if you were interested in learning more, then cool! But really, I just feel like it might help, and I just… I don’t want to go alone.”

Max almost laughed with relief, “ _Of course_ , I’ll go with you!”

Kate’s expression softened, her eyes growing warm again for just an instant.

“I’d like to think it’ll help. Hearing the words, the songs, just-“

“That sounds wonderful, Kate,” Max squeezed Kate’s hand before looking out toward the ocean again. Somewhere out there was another Max, in another life, traipsing off to San Francisco, and in another she was kissing Chloe on a cliff in the eye of the storm. Now, there was still a girl buried beneath the junkyard, and somewhere, there was a blue butterfly.

* * *

 

Kate’s mood improved when she agreed to help Max pick out an outfit for mass. They chose to attend the evening service at the church by the cemetery, but Max knew that a t-shirt and jeans wouldn’t do. Kate’s eyes lit up as she helped her pick out a skirt and lent her a pair of Mary Janes to match for the occasion.

“You might want to bring this, too,” Kate said, pointing to the black cloth on Max’s desk chair, “The last time I went to mass it was kind of chilly, and it’ll help cover your shoulders. It’s a modesty thing.” she laughed almost apologetically.

Victoria’s sweater was still hanging off the back of Max’s chair, and she made a mental note to return it to her afterwards. Victoria hadn’t much of a chance to tell Max to “ _fuck her selfie”_ nor had Max been forced to spill paint on her cashmere sweater, so here it was sitting in her mess of a dorm room. After Nathan’s arrest, Victoria changed. She grew quiet, but she was still cold. And yet, just before the funeral, Victoria approached Max’s dorm in the quiet of the morning, uttering a half-hearted apology for being such a jerk before insulting her dress. But instead of railing her even further, Victoria had ducked into her room across the hall to gather the garment and draped her sweater over Max’s shoulders. “ _In case it gets cold out,”_ Their eyes locked for a quiet moment before Victoria snapped back to herself and said sorry again, though curtly and without emotion, demanding that Max return it as pristine as she had borrowed it or she’d pay to replace it. Max was still surprised Victoria had shown up to the funeral at all.

“Uh, _yeah_ , sure. This’ll be nice,” Max said watching herself unsurely in her full-length mirror. Max was used to dressing without forethought, a simple tee and jeans, a canvas bag and something cute if she was feeling up to it. She almost felt silly wearing a skirt.

“It _is_ nice,” Kate said, smiling gently.

Max watched how the sun played on her face, how it made her dirty blonde hair glow yellow-gold as if she were haloed. This was a good look on Kate. Even if the party still happened, in this timeline Kate was still herself, she was still kind and hopeful. She was eager to find meaning in life, even if she felt unsure. Max hoped that going to church might help. Before the guilt of what she already knew could take over, she took a deep breath and slung her “going out” purse across her shoulder.

“Ready?”

Kate smiled again, and Max was thankful.

 

* * *

 

The church was beautiful. White spires rose like storm clouds up into the sunset, and the stained-glass windows glimmered in the golden light. She had never been to a church like this, let alone many churches at all. The only occasions she could recall were a few family weddings when she was younger, and she had seen the church from a distance the day before, from the cemetery grounds.

Max’s parents weren’t very religious, and though they did celebrate Christmas, Max knew that didn’t count for much. She had never minded Kate’s rambling, obvious to the joy it brought her and understanding of the meaning it gave her life. Max may not have always agreed with her efforts, like the Abstinence Only campaign, but she knew it wasn’t entirely a bad thing either. It bothered her when the other students rolled their eyes at her and dismissed her, but was glad to hear that there were at least a select few that shared her views, even if Max wasn’t exactly one of them. Max had never really thought too much about religion and belief before, and after what had happened, she wasn’t sure what to believe.

She stood on tiptoe, trying to see Chloe’s grave from here. Max spied a swath of blue amid the sea of shrubberies and headstones, laden with their own flowers and wreaths, before Kate ushered her inside.

The ceilings were high, making Max feel small. She recalled her Art History readings, the sole reason she knew anything about Christianity or churches at all without ever really having been in one. Her class notes came back to her, something about letting light in and making God feel ever-present in the empty, looming space. She also thought of flying buttresses and how she always failed to suppress her laughter on the vocab quizzes. Kate picked a spot at a pew near the pulpit, another vocab word she recalled, with a decent view of a sprawling stained-glass scene depicting something Max was unfamiliar with from her art studies, but Kate looked up at it reverently, and the comfort clear on her face made Max quietly happy.

They settled into the mumbling quiet as the rest of the mass shuffled in. Max watched on, silent but observant, half-listening to the sermon but paying full-attention to the people crowding the pews. She watched their faces and she saw how they sighed and whispered to themselves, how the smaller children squirmed and wrestled against their parents’ wishes, and how the rest either seemed completely absorbed or lost in contemplation. Kate seemed somewhere in the middle. There were times where her attention perked up, and other times where she closed her eyes with purpose, retreating to some inner part of herself where she could be in closer communion with her faith. Max stumbled through the motions, watching on as those around her followed the steps of an unseen dance. Standing, sitting, kneeling, standing, singing, sitting. And so on.

Kate did not mind when Max stayed behind during communion, uncomfortable approaching the altar as she was completely unfamiliar with the ritual. She watched on as Kate stood in line and neared the priest as he offered her the body and the blood of Christ. Max stifled a confused laugh, making a mental note to ask what that meant, exactly - but later. A joke came to mind, one that Chloe might laugh at, and Max glanced at the stained window, unable to see the cemetery beyond the colored glass.

When the mass was over, Kate lingered, asking Max what she thought and how she felt. Max didn’t exactly have the right words, but her mumblings were enough for Kate. As the others filed out, Kate meandered, admiring the glass, before whispering to Max.

“I think- I think I want to go to confession first, and then we can head back to Blackwell.” Kate admitted as if she were guilty of something, in which case Max thought that confession was only appropriate. Max nodded.

It must be about the party, about the things Kate barely remembered, about the bad feeling she had. Without the viral video, Kate at least felt comfortable enough to come here, she felt safe. Max knew enough about confession from movies, so at least she didn’t need to be schooled in this part of religious belief and ritual.

Max knew Kate wasn’t guilty of anything, that anything that _had_ happened was against her will. But after being in Jefferson’s clutches, she knew how easy it was to feel responsible for the things that were thrust upon you, even if they were never your choice. Feeling violated made you feel as if you had asked for it, even if you hadn’t, and the feel of the wrongness weighed heavy. It made you question your every action, your every thought, everything that had led to this. Kate must be feeling the same way.

Max watched her slip behind a velvet curtain of what looked like a medieval port-a-potty, and despite the mental image Max didn’t laugh this time, even though she had to admit that she was somewhat nervous. A priest slid into the adjoining chamber, and she could feel their low, lumbering whispers from the other side, though Max didn’t actually hear a word.

There were other people milling about, talking mostly, stragglers and parents controlling their curious kids as they led them back outside. Another priest slid into the adjacent booth, awaiting any other confessioners. A man walked in, and in a few minutes walked out, breathing lighter. Kate was still speaking.

The priest remained in the second booth, as if he were waiting for her. Max knew he probably remained in the event of anyone else needing a reprieve, not just her, but something about being so close to Chloe’s grave and so alone in the church made her walk in.

There was a small wooden bench inside, not unlike the pews that lined the church, and the space behind the red velvet was musty, like an old aunt’s attic. Max had never been to confession before, but the words slipped out as if she were starring in a movie.

“Hello Father, and it’s been, well, I’ve never had a first confession, so I guess it’s been forever?” she asked into nothingness. There was a stirring beside her. There was another curtain, not a fancy wooden lattice like there often was on the silver screen.

The priest mumbled something, and though Max was too nervous to ask him to repeat himself, his voice sounded calm, comforting, and inviting enough for her to just launch into whatever was on her mind.

“I’m not sure if you, or _anyone_ really, would believe this... or if it even matters, but-”

 

* * *

 

 _“Hey, we’re here.”_ A voice cooed at her from the depths of sleep.

Max’s hands felt warm, and her gut was wracked with a guilt she couldn’t quite explain. It was as if she had a stress dream, the kind where you have an argument with a loved one and your voice goes quiet and sore with emotion, screaming at a volume your dreams can’t even translate. But soon Chloe’s blue-haloed head emerged in her vision, her face framed by the cool glow of early morning.

Max’s neck was sore from having slept with her head against the rumbling car door, but Chloe’s cool blue eyes coaxed her into waking with minimal complaining.

“And where is _here_ , exactly?” Max asked, slightly worried.

“At our temporary abode, of course,” Chloe exclaimed, though her voice was still soft. Max couldn’t tell if she was nervous or if she was just being courteous enough to keep her voice low at this early hour. Once she raised her head and looked out the window, she knew it was a bit of both.

They were parked beside a roadside inn, a single floor motel with only a single row of rooms out in the middle of goddamn nowhere. Behind them was a field of evergreens and beside them was a whole lot of nothing.

“I figured we could chill here for a little while. Get some sleep, some greasy food, and I don’t know, catch a pay-per-view or two?”

“They still have those?” Max asked groggily, though amusement laced her tired throat.

Chloe shrugged, excitement and worry mingling behind her eager eyes.

“One way to find out!”

Chloe gathered up the blanket that Max had kicked into a ball at her feet in fits of sleep and threw it at her head before bolting from the truck. Max laughed, gathering herself and following suit. The air smelt so fresh out here, and cool in the early autumn air. The trees were in full flame, at least aside from the evergreens. There were green trees behind them, but the trees that flanked the Lincoln log motel were orange and burgundy speckled with yellow and brown.

Max drew her sweatshirt close to herself. It still smelled of rain, and a brief flash of the lighthouse amid the storm passed in her mind’s eye before she registered Chloe’s goofy grin as she coaxed her inside with a cartoonishly large room key in hand.

Chloe jiggled the key in the lock, the large felt keychain with an indiscriminate motel name written in neon pink emblazoned across the side slapping the door as she did so. Max muffled her laughter with her sleeve. She could almost see her escaping breath in the morning chill.

With the door now open, Chloe dashed in and opened the blinds. Through the window, Max spied a queen-sized bed in front of an ancient television set as deep as it was wide, a small kitchenette equipped with a single set of pots and pans, and a door that led to a shadowy bathroom. She watched on as Chloe ceremoniously dived onto the bed after a running jump. Max could hear the springs creaking from the car.

Max shook her head as she reached into the back for their makeshift knapsacks, mostly filled to the brim with things they’d collected from Max’s room at Blackwell in a haphazard panic, still running on adrenaline and worry that they might not outrun the storm.

She lugged the packs into the room and settled them on the floor as she heard the sudden silencing of television static, as if Chloe had turned on the TV only to turn it off again. Chloe’s eyes were wide, blinking rapidly.

“Are you okay?” Max asked, looking from the bed to the TV in confusion. Sleep still clouded her thoughts, and for some reason she thought of Kate Marsh and warm tea, but maybe she was just cold.

“What?” Chloe asked, bewildered. “ _Oh,_ yeah. Fine. Fit as a whistle.”

Her voice took on a higher pitch than normal and she laughed a bit too sincerely. Chloe hopped off the bed and flung the remote onto its now-mussed covers.

“Maybe we should get some grub first, yeah? The creepy lady at the front said there’s free breakfast before eleven.”

“Creepy lady?” Max repeated. Her voice felt as if it were a million miles away, and standing in the doorway she almost felt as if she were about to leave her body. Exhaustion slunk back in, and despite how much she needed that sleep in the car earlier, her body craved the comfort of an actual mattress.

“Maybe I’ll go grab something for us, you can stay here and rest. I’ll be right back.”

Chloe rushed from the room as if she suddenly couldn’t bear to be there any longer. Max watched after her, unable to react for the heaviness that overcame her. _Will I ever feel normal again?_

Max sighed, dragging her feet to the bed before flopping on her back, face up. There was an ancient-looking fluorescent light fixture above her, and soon Chloe’s face was hovering close-by, too.

“I’ll get the pancakes and bacon, don’t you worry. You’ve been through enough, girl scout.” Chloe winked at her emphatically and Max laughed despite her tiredness. Chloe’s eyes crinkled for just a moment, and she closed the gap between them. She pecked her on the mouth, softly, swiftly, but before Max could properly reciprocate, Chloe pulled away just far enough to look at her. Her eyes were almost sad before she kissed her forehead and jumped up again, asking “So, pancakes and bacon? Yeah?” shooting finger guns in her direction.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a horse!” Max said sleepily, desperately holding onto the sensation of Chloe’s lips on hers again, this time without rain, without wind, without the threat of death upon them.

But wait, had Chloe kissed her before? Or had she been dreaming?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will pick up next chapter, I promise! This is probably one of the last calm, quiet, contemplative bits for a while. And as usual, thanks and enjoy! :)


	3. Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max drifts from dream to dream, wondering whether to feel lucky or guilty, or some confusing mixture of both.

Max’s body felt heavy yet she also felt as if she were floating, somehow. Every spring in the mattress beneath her was a separate pinpoint in her back, keeping here, keeping her present and solid, yet another part of her felt separate from itself, as if she were hovering over the bed at the same time like the unlucky girl in a horror movie – and for a moment, she had been. As her eyes watched the warm, buzzing light-fixture overhead, she recalled flashes of light, the bright kind from Jefferson’s dark room. She felt tape on her wrists and ankles, her limbs fixed to the chair. This feeling was familiar. Of course it was, she had felt this before, but she had the uncanny inclination that she had dreamt of this before, too, and on more than one occasion.

Max was unsure of what was real, uncertain of what had actually happened in this timeline.

Max promised to herself, silently, that she’d utilize her journal again. That she’d go over the moments and replay them scene by scene, even if some were hard to swallow. She closed her eyes, eager for sleep, but only visions came. Memories flicked through her consciousness as if she were watching stills from a film: Kate leaping from the roof of the girls’ dormitories, her hair and clothes soaked with rain; Chloe immobile in a hospital bed, feigning a smile despite the pain; a body bag buried in the heart of a hideout, a place where Rachel had once felt safe, a place where Chloe went to feel close to Rachel yet unaware of just how close she really was; a sobbing Victoria on the floor of Jefferson’s bunker, her mascara running down her face as the drugs wore off; beached whales and dead birds; a ghostly doe wandering in the woods, warning Max and making her think that all of this had happened before yet somehow hadn’t yet, simultaneously.

If this is what sleep brought her, maybe she’d wait. She’d keep it at bay for as long as she could.

Her memories were jumbled and she was no longer sure which recollections belonged where, or when. Maybe when Chloe got back she’d agree to help her. Max had already told her everything so far, she knew more than anyone.

_And she’s all I really have left._

Max’s parents were one thing, and she still felt marginally guilty that they were safe in Seattle. But everyone back at Blackwell, in Arcadia Bay…

Foregoing sleep, Max sat up, nursing a tension headache that swelled as she did so. She slept most of the way here but it was if she hadn’t slept in days. She looked at her reflection in the large, outdated television on the other side of the room. Her hair was a mess, she could tell, and her eyes looked sunken and almost alien in the TV screen. Max felt the remote nudge her palm as she leaned into the mattress. She looked at it for a moment, staring at the piece of plastic, forgetting momentarily what it was. Whatever Chloe saw on the television earlier had scared her enough to hide it from Max. There was only one way to find out what it was.

The old machine hummed to life as an image erupted onto the curved screen, displaying a woman in a tight dress, pointing at a series of colored numbers. It took a moment for Max’s mind to comprehend that she was watching the weather segment of the news.

“I am _way. too. fucking. tired_.” Max muttered to herself, before the weather report transitioned to display images from a breaking story instead. The woman’s pleasant non-denominational voice swam through her head, and though her brain was working on low-battery, she knew what the news was talking about. They _had_ to talk about it. How could they not?

_“Meteorologists are still unsure as to what predicated the events in the Arcadia Bay area of Oregon State, but the damage caused by the unpredicted storm was widespread…”_

The woman’s voice was almost soothing enough to make Max believe this wasn’t real, that this was just a dream, but she knew all too well otherwise.

“ _Recovery efforts are still in effect. Damaged areas are continuing to be cleared and evacuated, but the rising death toll-“_

Max shut the TV off. No wonder Chloe had panicked.

But despite that panic, she had kissed her, soft and purposeful, if not only as a means of distracting her. Her mouth felt familiar, like home. Sure, they had kissed back in Chloe’s room what felt like years ago, before the worst of it all happened, but Max had a feeling that there was another kiss, a kiss that she could only half-remember, while swirling in a vortex of wind and rain…

* * *

 

The sun was already a half-swallowed by the horizon when Max and Kate returned to campus. Her skin prickled at the recollection of the priest’s silence. She could feel him ruminating in confused contemplation on the other side of the curtain before giving her some advice.

Before doling out any prescription prayers, the young man on the other side advised her to reevaluate her actions and determine whether she believed them to be right at the time _. “As long as we are always doing our best, that is all we can really ask of ourselves. Accidents happen. If there is repentance, there can be forgiveness, but even then, good souls tend to be hard on themselves.”_

Max didn’t feel changed or enlightened, at least not in the way Kate expected when she saw her emerge from the confessional. But the priest’s words stuck with her, they struck a chord and they made her heart feel warm. It helped that she spotted a swarm of butterflies on the bus ride home. They weren’t blue, but it was enough.

The campus was quiet, as if under a sleeping spell, when they returned. The last shafts of golden light filtered into the courtyard in front of the dorms, as if highlighting where Kate lost her life in another lifetime, reminding Max of all that she had done _right_. Right? Was that really the proper word?

Kate looked tired. She was still worried about the party, about Nathan, and about things that bothered her more in that other lifetime. Without the looming threat of social suicide on the horizon, Max was glad that actual suicide did not appear to be an option that this version of Kate considered. She promised to help her sort things out in the following weeks, and thanked her for inviting her to church. If anything, despite the cryptic words of the priest, Kate’s relative comfort made her feel at ease. Whatever happened with Nathan and Mr. Jefferson, it was still an uncomfortable blur in Kate’s memory, and Max hoped it remained that way even if she regretted that it still even happened at all.

She wished she could turn back just a little bit further, to undo the party, to make sure that no one ever touched Kate. But her powers were gone. Her ability to nudge time in her favor fled the night of the storm and it showed no signs of coming back. Max was thankful, but hoped against hope that The Powers That Be would allow her to undo this, this one last injustice.

When she got to her room, alone, she thought of Rachel Amber. She thought of the countless other girls in countless other binders that lined Jefferson’s bunker. How many were there? How far back did it go? If she saved Kate, then why not Rachel? Why not the rest of them? What if Jefferson had been doing this for far longer than she was even alive? When would it end?

The tears came as soon as she closed her door again, the first shadows of night creeping in as the golden rays of evening faded. Kate didn’t deserve this. No one did. And yet…

In another reality, she and Victoria were victims, too. Max put on a brave face, and she defeated him - but the pain was still there. She could still feel the duct tape, the invasion of privacy and personal space, the nauseating sensation that she could not stop this and that this was somehow still her fault. In another life, Victoria had died, just like Rachel. Another casualty of a fragile male ego eager for power, hungry for victims to bow to his twisted artistic whims, even if the strings were already pulled taut in his favor.

The image of Victoria lifeless on the floor made her blood run cold, and Max began to shake. Finding Rachel’s body bag beneath the junkyard was one thing, but seeing a friend die before her eyes was something else entirely, especially when she knew she could have done something about it. Victoria was alive and well now, though the ‘well’ part of that statement was debatable. Max may have prevented some things, but people still suffered. The Vortex party still haunted Kate, and now Victoria knew the truth about Nathan – or at least one dark part of it. As much as the latter wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, she could tell that Victoria was not taking it well.

Max wiped the tears from her face and inhaled. She held her breath, closing her eyes with purpose before exhaling again. When she opened them, she checked to see if the cashmere sweater draped over her shoulders was at all compromised. It was dry and just as pristine as when Victoria lent it to her.

* * *

 

Before she knew it, or before she could realize what it was she was doing, Max was knocking on Victoria’s door. She rapped respectfully in the event that she didn’t want to be disturbed, but in a rhythm that communicated it was done on purpose if she felt like answering. It was probably to the usual tune of ‘a shave and a haircut’ but Victoria’s unamused face appeared between the door and frame before Max could fully realize where she was or what she was doing.

Dumbfounded, she held up Victoria’s sweater, unsure of what to say. Her narrow, mildly annoyed, brown eyes flicked between Max and the sweater in her hand. She _tsked_ , snatching the sweater before muttering a halfhearted “Thanks,” but Victoria failed to close the door in her face, or something equally characteristic. Instead, she stood there for a moment, considering her.

Victoria opened the door further, her shoulders slumping.

“ _Thanks_ ,” she repeated, but with sincerity this time, even though it pained her to do so. Max flashed a forced smile before her face fell again, ready to retreat to her room before Victoria’s arm shot out, stopping her.

 _“Wait_ ,” she pleaded, her voice suddenly soft but insistent.

Max’s eyes widened in confusion.

Victoria seemed just as unsure of her actions as Max. After a moment, she exhaled, surrendering to some inner part of herself before asking, “Would you… would you mind coming in for a minute? Y’know, to … _talk?_ ”

Despite her request, Victoria didn’t seem to know _how_ to talk exactly, but to be fair, neither did Max. After a moment of mild surprise, Max nodded fervently, entering Victoria’s room as she closed the door behind her.

Victoria eyed her in the dim light of her dorm, settling uneasily onto her sofa. She watched Max for a moment before kneading her hands together, clearly as uncertain as the girl standing before her. Max had been here before, but in another lifetime. Somehow, things seemed different, though almost nothing was out of place. Maybe it was because Victoria was here, amongst her own things, looking vulnerable, whereas before she was absent, and all the more a bitch to be reckoned with.

“I’m not really sure how to ask this,” Victoria started, watching her hands fold and unfold in her lap. Nervous laughter erupted from her throat, jolted and jarred. Max’s blood thrummed in her veins, anxious about what Victoria wanted. She shuffled her weight from foot to foot as Victoria seemed just as unsure as to how to conduct herself; where to put her hands, where to look, what to say. A week ago, this would have been a joke to the both of them, a seemingly unrealistic depiction of a future neither of them would find believable. And yet, here they were, acting equally awkward and unsure of themselves, in Victoria’s room of all places.

“What happened? Exactly?” Victoria asked finally, her voice a hushed whisper.

Max raised her eyebrows, confused for a moment before making the connection.

“ _Oh_ , you mean, um-?“ she almost didn’t want to say it, as if acknowledging what had happened would make it all the more real. Realer than it already was.

Despite her ineloquence, Victoria nodded, understanding.

“I have to know, I feel like-“ she scrunched her face, searching for the right words. “I don’t know, like it might make sense if I know.”

Max barely nodded, understanding but unsure if she could do it. Suddenly unable to stand, she took a seat beside Victoria, consciously sitting as far away as she could without seeming rude.

“Um, it was after class. After- I went to the bathroom.” Max started, looking at Victoria to see if she was following, as if what she had said so far was near incomprehensible. She shook her head, berating herself for being so childish, so in denial. But Victoria nodded in understanding – as if she, too, were afraid of what words were about to come out of Max’s mouth, but for different reasons. Max hadn’t said any of this out loud yet, and Victoria still didn’t want to accept that her closest friend had straight up murdered someone.

Victoria’s warm, brown eyes were almost yellow, like molten honey. They were wide in anticipation, awaiting Max’s words. She had never looked at her eyes this closely before, and the last time she was ever close to Victoria was the night of the Vortex party, when she warned her about Nathan, when she told her that her friend could do something far worse to her than he could ever accidentally do to Chloe. But that hadn’t happened, not really, even if Max still had the memories to show for it.

“I was feeling anxious so I splashed some water on my face,” Max continued, closing her eyes and placing herself back there in the bathroom again. She could see the light filtering in through the window, and the dust motes floating in the golden rays of afternoon. “I saw a blue butterfly, so I thought I might get a photo. It was in the back corner, so I crouched down to take it, and when I did, I heard the door swing open and Nathan started talking. Mumbling to himself.” Max’s eyes were still closed, conjuring the memory from her well of recollections, “I- I froze. I didn’t know what to do, or what to think. He sounded worried, scared? But then someone else came in,” _Chloe_ she said, in her mind’s eye, but for some reason felt the need to exclude her name from her retelling, “They argued, there was yelling. They threatened each other, Nathan owed her money. I- I forget what happened next, but-“

Victoria was swaying back and forth now, subtly, but enough for Max to open her eyes and notice. Their eyes locked, knowing exactly what happened next despite Max’s words.

Max didn’t like it any more than Victoria did. What she learned about Nathan in another life made her pity him, it made her wonder whether she could have talked him down somehow or convinced him that he needed to get help. But maybe Victoria had already told him, she had already been that person. Maybe there was nothing else left to do. Maybe that was why Victoria was sitting here, beside her, wracked with guilt and nervousness, in need of validation that Nathan _did_ kill that girl, even if she didn’t want to believe it.

“You knew her, right?” was the first thing out of Victoria’s mouth. Max blinked, nodding slowly.

Victoria didn’t look at her. Instead, her eyes were fixated at some indiscriminate spot on her floor as her hands continued to furl and unfurl, her toes curling under her feet as she shrunk into her pristine couch like some dying flower. Max noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the way her hair was mussed – well, by Victoria’s standards, anyway.

Suddenly inhaling, Victoria straightened up, her hands settling on her lap and her feet resting flat on the floor.  She forced a smile and a tense, “Thanks, really.”

Her smile was pained, almost panicked, but she managed to reassume an air of utter haughtiness despite it. Max nodded, wondering why she would expect anything else, and let herself out.

Victoria shut the door behind her, leaving Max barefoot on the old carpeted hallway. She stood there for a moment, looking through the din. She could have sworn she had a dream about this – an endless hallway lit with candles, closed doors and wrong turns. She shook her head.

There was at least another day before class started. There was a good amount of school work to preoccupy her, and a mournfully empty diary to fill. She could survive until then, she told herself, though she wasn’t sure if she believed it.

* * *

 

Chloe found Max thumbing through her journal, bearing news of good grub and where to find it.

Chloe half-lied about the “good” part, Max could tell, but the echoes howling in Max’s stomach convinced her that it didn’t really matter.

“Pancakes and bacon, you’re favorite!” Chloe cooed at her, reaching for her journal and tossing it to the other side of the bed.

“Thanks, _mom_ ,” Max laughed, relieved at how easy it was to forget – at least for now. Chloe was a natural, it seemed. She must have been, after losing her dad, even if she was putting on a brave face for Max now. After all, she _did_ save her life. But before Max could feel guilty about that, too, she was being led by the hand to the check-in cabin.

Birds chirped and squirrels scurried, almost as if there was nothing ever than normal, as if nothing bad had ever happened in the world except for burned batches of generic brand coffee and not enough to-go lids to go around. Nothing existed outside of this middle-of-nowhere-wherever-the-hell-they-were and Max hoped she could get used to this sort of delusionment.

Chloe was teasing her dreaminess by the time they reached the front building. Like the rest of the motel, the small check-in cabin looked as if it were built out of a giant’s Lincoln Logs, and Max wondered just how long this dream might last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, deeeeeefinitely picking it up next chapter, just needed a bit more angst that will build up other certain subplots later!


	4. Dreamwalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max vows to retrace her steps and remember everything that happened in an attempt to get a grip on reality, and seeks the help of her friends to keep her story straight.

Max and Chloe sat side by side in the overly quaint reception cabin, eyes wide as a little old woman with glasses so large she resembled an owl in outdated 80’s attire. Piled high before them were paper plates full of pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast and plastic packets of butter and syrup. Chloe nudged Max, smirking into a sly remark about how very Twin Peaks this felt, biting her lip when she was finished speaking. But Max couldn’t hear Chloe’s voice – it was as if she were speaking to her from underwater, her voice muted and muffled and bubbling subaquatic. Chloe’s aquamarine-spectrum hair began to float as if she were swimming, no drowning, and Max tried to scream but all that came out of her mouth was dust. Her throat was so dry and her limbs were heavy with lead and she couldn’t move. The food was gone and the cabin was empty, and before she could make sense of any of it Chloe was swept up in an underwater vortex, swirling about the room as the water filtered down, down, down into an unseen drain. Max remained fixed, like an anchor at the table, as Chloe was swallowed into nothingness and there was nothing she could do.  


...

 

Angry knocking jolted Max awake. Her head felt heavy and a dull pain thrummed at the edges of her skull. The morning light stung her eyes, still heavy with sleep and the knocking at her door sounded as if it might burst the damn thing open.

“Can you _please_ turn that damn thing _OFF?!”_ muffled yelling demanded from the other side. As she came to herself, Max could hear her alarm clock sounding off from a million miles away. She went to reach for it, but her hands hit ground instead. Opening her eyes more forcefully this time, Max found herself tangled in her blanket on her dorm room floor. The knocking continued.

“ _Come on!”_

Blood rushed to her limbs as Max scrambled to her bedside table, slamming her alarm clock to the point of almost breaking the thing. She pushed the hair from her face and glanced at herself in the mirror, still sprawled out on the floor.

“ _Fucking hell,”_ she muttered to no one but herself.

Another nightmare. Another night of restless sleep. Another night of Chloe and losing her, again.

The knocking ceased, and its perpetrator (Victoria, no doubt) stomped away with a huff not long after, muttering what Max could faintly tell was an aggravated, “ _Finally.”_

Groaning, Max clamored to her feet, trying to stretch herself into feeling more awake, more like a real human being and not like some doll whose spell to come to life was wearing off. She gathered her blanket and tossed it onto her bed – only to find that beneath the jumble was her diary, sprawled open with several sheets ripped out.

The pages littered the floor, and Max was reminded of sifting through photos not too long ago. But the similarities didn’t end there. Max bent down to the floor again, surveying the damage. The portion of the diary up until the day Chloe died was still intact, but everything after was a mess. Some pages were crumpled, others partially ripped, but Max shuddered when she read what was on them.

“No way, _no way_ ,” she muttered, almost feverish, sorting through the papers, “How?”

The pages were from days she thought she had left behind. Pages filled with sketches of Chloe and blue birds, butterflies, and license plates. Frank’s number was scrawled on a corner and there were photos of beached whales and twin, dizzying moons. A Vortex Club flyer was stuck between the pages, and Max knew that she hadn’t taken one, at least not in _this_ timeline. She hadn’t decided to go until…

Max’s skin was aflurry with goosebumps, but she only felt colder and closer to numb when a softer knock rapped on her door. Max heard herself say “Come in,” though her voice didn’t even feel like her own. She hastily shoved the papers back into her journal and tossed it onto her futon when Kate Marsh poked her head through Max’s door.

“Max, come quick.”

Kate’s eyes were wide and worried, and though her voice was soft, it sounded urgent. Without thinking, Max nodded. She slipped her feet into her Converse and shrugged on a hoodie. Kate ushered her into the hall where several other girls were gathered. Juliet and Dana were running out through the double doors as Brooke and Alyssa watched warily from the side window. Brooke caught Max’s eye and waved her over, instantly privy to the look of confusion on her face.

“The police are here,” she stated in her usual matter-of-fact tone, pointing into the distance. The side window looked out towards the school, and from the looks and sounds of it, there was a whole squadron of police cars down by the main entrance.

“I went outside to see what was happening but an officer told me to stay here,” she continued, annoyed.

“That doesn’t seem to have stopped Dana and Juliet,” Max huffed. She jogged over to the window by the bathroom, and down below she watched as the two girls snuck past the officers stationed on the quad and around the shrubbery to get to the main road.

“If we want to see what’s up, I say we follow them,” Max said. Her voice was light and curious, but inside her heart was on fire. She wanted to go back to her dorm and figure out what was up with her diary – because part of her knew what already awaited them outside, she just wanted proof of it first.

Her anxiety tripled when she saw Kate’s face appear at her side, biting her lip and shifting her weight from side to side.

Max could barely keep her memory straight, and she couldn’t recall exactly what may have been weighing on Kate’s mind right now. She knew the Vortex Club party was still a thing, but what else? What else had happened? What hadn’t?

She thought of her diary again when she decided to follow Dana and Juliet’s lead, and sneak her way to the school’s front entrance.

Brooke, Alyssa, and Kate followed suit, though Max was only mildly surprised. She must have felt more comfortable surrounded by friends, and though Max was still nervous, she was happy that Kate had a support group here, now, wherever they were.

The grounds seemed almost eerie, but it may have been because they all knew they weren’t supposed to be out here. The police on duty, who looked awfully young and fresh to the force, were too busy talking to themselves to notice the girls at all, making their escape all the easier. Dana and Juliet were parked out by the school’s front lawn, posing as normal passersby to anyone who didn’t know better. Max stood out, standing there in her PJs, an oversized hoodie and untied sneakers, but the scene that unfolded was enough to keep her from worrying about her appearance or the slight morning chill.

They were supposed to go back to class today. There would be a seminar on drugs and bullying, and a service for Chloe, even if she hadn’t attended Blackwell for over a year and wasn’t exactly a model student. There were supposed to be guidance counselors and school psychologists on hand to help deal with any students who were shaken by the previous weeks’ events, to divulge any inner turmoil they themselves may be dealing with and to help generally ease the tension that had taken over the school since that day. But Max had no idea what else they may need to calm their nerves and settle their worries as Mr. Jefferson was led in handcuffs out of the Blackwell Academy and into a squad car.

The other girls whispered excitedly, uttering their shared senses of shock and awe, but Max only felt sick. Mr. Jefferson. How could she forget? With the storm, Chloe, and the funeral, Max had completely forgotten about what other loose ends remained in Arcadia Bay. Nathan and the Vortex Club party were still topics of discussion, but Max had almost forgotten that her time with Mr. Jefferson had occurred in another lifetime, even if it felt too painfully present. And all the while, he was _here_ , and she was too preoccupied to worry about it.

She had thought about him back at the café, when Kate mentioned the party. But somewhere in the back of her mind she still felt as if David Madsen had tackled the bastard in his own domain and taken him in. Max had completely forgotten that she wasn’t safe, that none of them were. But here he was,  again, getting arrested. But how? On what charges?

Max almost hadn’t noticed that Kate snaked her arm though hers. Linked at the elbows, they stood together in silence, knowing not what the other thought or knew or had been through, and worried at what this meant for all of them.

 

* * *

 

 

Max felt as if she was drowning, struggling and sputtering for air.

She awoke in the motel, alone, the TV still on and droning on and on and on about something that felt like half a world away from wherever Max was. Of course it felt that way, Max hadn’t even been _here_. She had been in Arcadia Bay, watching Mr. Jefferson get arrested, _again_ , and she was losing her grip on time, her memory, on what it was that she thought she knew.

She scrambled to find the remote and shut the TV off.

Her reflection looked back at her, a dark version of herself looking in from a shadow world. Max thought of her dreams and how real they felt this time. Her face even felt strained from crying the night before, her chest aching with memories of Kate’s worrying and Victoria’s concern for Nathan. And her ankles were cold with morning dew.

The door nudged itself open, and Chloe backed into the room with twin trays filled with pancakes.

“Next time, _please_ , try not to pass out on the table okay?!” Chloe chided as she placed the trays on the side table, plucking a piece of bacon from a pile and sticking it between her lips as if it were a toothpick.

“How are you feeling, dreamwalker?” she asked, the bacon still in her mouth, unbitten.

“Huh?” was all Max could muster. She was still sitting on the bed, almost unable to move.

“You don’t remember?” Chloe asked, dropping the humor immediately. She crossed and uncrossed her arms, and then gently placed a tray of food on the bedside table next to Max.

“You really need some food in you. And trust me, I think all the syrup and bacon fat will do you good,” she almost sounded motherly, so unlike her and much more like Joyce, but the concern in her voice was all Chloe.

Max nibbled at her own pile of bacon as Chloe began.

“Well, I was gonna grab some grub and then come back here, but once I got there and saw all the food, I figured I’d bring you with me because there was coffee and orange juice and croissants and that store-bought cookie monster cookie cake we always used to make my mom buy for us when we were kids, and you were doing fine really, just kinda sleepy and slow and then all of a sudden you just sorta _wobbled_ and then started talking about your diary and how you were drowning or something and I just-“

“Chloe, _Chloe-_ “ Max pleaded, though her voice was hoarse and slow. Chloe’s mile-a-minute retelling came to a halt, as did Chloe’s anxious pacing. She stopped and stood before Max with her hands on her hips, her beautiful blue eyes wide with worry. Max thought of Kate Marsh, and something about police sirens and a mussed up blanket, but she reached out for Chloe despite it and took her hand in hers.

“Chill, please?” Max asked, her voice still sounding small, “I think I need some sleep. Like, _lots_ of it. _Loads_ of it, even. I think, I’m-“ Max nibbled on more bacon as she thought of the right words. “I think my brain is on overload.”

“Are you sure? I mean, _of course_ , but how do you know that’s all it is?” Chloe asked, too worried to clarify.

“How do I know what?” she asked, worry mounting in her chest.

“I don’t know, all this messing with time and the nosebleeds, I just- I don’t know, I’m worried that maybe you overheated or something. Maybe you’ve got some frayed wiring up there.”

“Up there?” Max almost laughed. Part of her wanted to berate Chloe for talking about her like she was an android but the other was amused at her choice of words despite the weight of what she was saying.

“ _You know what I mean_ , Max.”

She didn’t know what to say. Chloe was right. Had messing with time royally fucked up her brain? Did she overclock it and cross some wires accidentally? Was there ever such a thing as going back to normal?

“I don’t know,” Max surrendered, “I _really_ don’t know.”

Chloe was still holding her hand, only now her thumb was gently grazing the back of Max’s wrist.

“Can you do me a favor? Not now, but-“ Max heard herself asking, remembering something about her journal as if it were already a half-forgotten memory.

“Sure,” Chloe said.

“I want you to help me go through my diary?” Max knew the statement itself wasn’t a question, but the assistance was. With her episode and the dreams, Max wasn’t sure what she remembered any more. If anyone could understand, it would be Chloe. Even if that weren’t the case, Chloe was the only person she could trust.

“You’re joking, right?” the softness in Chloe’s face didn’t fade, but she failed to hide the laughter threatening to sneak between her syllables. Max shook her head.

“I kept a journal of everything that happened. About my powers, about what happened when, and to who, I may even still have pictures or something, but-“ Max took a deep breath, suddenly nervous and out of sorts again, “I’m forgetting things. And I’m dreaming about them. There was so much more that happened between the Vortex Club and the lighthouse that I haven’t told you and I’m not even sure if you even want to know it all, and I don’t know if I can even begin to _explain it_ -“

“Whoa, _whoa_ , slow down there, cowboy.” Chloe eased herself onto the bed beside Max, never letting go of her hand. It was warm and weighted, anchoring Max to the here and now.

“I’ll help,” she said, her voice soft, slow and deliberate. “But I really think you need some syrup and bacon grease in that tired, old body of yours and a good day and a half’s worth of shut-eye. Maybe we’ll even marathon those Pirates of the Caribbean movies while we’re at it. There are, what, like twelve of them now?”

“I think there are only three. Wait, four maybe?”

Chloe smiled and bit her lip.

“Okay, _four_.”

Her words were casual, almost worthy of a joke, but Max could hear the weight of Chloe’s words in the tone of her voice, she felt it in the way she leaned in close, their elbows knocking. Chloe kissed Max’s t-shirt sleeve, though she could still feel the warmth of her through the fabric. Max’s face flushed, but Chloe was already placing the tray of food directly onto her lap and mock-threatening to force-feed her if she didn’t eat up.

“Thank you.” Chloe said after a while, it was almost a whisper. Max only looked at her. She knew. She had given up everything to save Chloe, because she would be damned if she abandoned her best friend again.

“Anytime.”

Before the silence could grow too palpable, Chloe jaunted to the other side of the room to grab the remote that had fallen to the floor and began flipping through the channels like they were curled up on the Price family couch on a Saturday morning - and for a moment, if Max didn’t think too hard about it, it really felt like they were back then, and everything was right with the world.

 

* * *

 

 

“Max? _Max!_ ”

Her legs were cold again, and the sun was in her eyes. She came to herself as her eyes adjusted to the light, subconsciously tightening her hoodie around herself with clammy hands.

“Sorry, wh-what?” her voice was groggy, as if she had just woken from sleep.

She was still with Kate, and Brooke and Alyssa were nearby, only Kate and Max were now sitting on the brick and concrete wall where Justin and Trevor usually attempted tre flips or noseslides. Max didn’t remember sitting down, but her tongue tasted suspiciously of syrup.

“You zoned out for a minute there. Uh, more like a _while,_ actually.”

Kate’s timid explanation betrayed her own unease, and Max could see the worry in her face, too. _Mr. Jefferson_. It was all coming back now.

“They took him away. School’s been canceled, for now. I didn’t hear Principal Wells say for how long, though.”

Max could only shake her head.

“I can’t-“ _believe I forgot,_ was what she meant to say, but Kate interpreted her half-finished words as the precursor to something else.

“I can’t believe it either. It’s all just, I don’t know. _Weird_ doesn’t even cut it.”

“I can agree with you there.”

“I don’t know,” Kate continued, looking from Max to the crowd of faculty gathered on the front steps of the academy. “I have a really weird feeling about all this, other than the obvious I mean.”

Max cocked her head, confused, curious, but afraid of what Kate might say next.

“I feel like, I knew something about this? Like,” Kate scrunched up her face in frustration as she struggled to find the right words, “It’s as if I’m trying to dredge up a memory, but something only half-remembered. Like a dream. Something about Mr. Jefferson.”

Max’s skin was completely cold now and covered in goosebumps. Kate finally opened her eyes again, her pupils nearly eclipsing her brown irises.

“I know it sounds crazy, but-“ Kate took a moment to herself to inhale and exhale with purpose before continuing, “I feel like I knew this was going to happen. I feel like, I don’t know, I feel like I’m _safe_ now. Is that bad?”

Max looked at Kate, their eyes locking. Kate didn’t know. Or at least, she barely remembered. Nathan had taken advantage of Kate that unfortunate night of the Vortex party, but Mr. Jefferson had been there, too. He was watching on as Nathan did his best impression of his mentor’s work, making sure he didn’t kill his subject, not this time. Max’s mouth may still have tasted like syrup, but the sweetness threatened to sicken her at the thought. She felt faint, but she managed to put a hand on Kate’s arm as reassuringly as her weakened limbs would allow.

“Mr. Jefferson was arrested for a reason, Kate. Of course that’s not bad.”

Kate nodded, but quickly averted her gaze to the front entrance again, as if unsure. Without the full story, Max’s words were just an empty consolation. She didn’t know that Max had proof, and none of them knew why Mr. Jefferson was arrested.

At least… not _yet_.

 

* * *

 

 

Max decided to forego a shower and locked herself in her dorm room alone, instead. She tackled her mess of a room and attempted to control the chaos, clearing a space for her journal and the mystery pages she had torn out in her sleep. She spent a good half hour reading through her entries for the month of September, humbled by the innocence of her worries then. She was a completely different person now. So much had happened, everything had changed, and more than once and over again. She wasn’t even finished reading when she began writing in the margins with red pen, as if she were grading herself on her past recollections. She took note of strange things she divulged to her diary but didn’t know were important then, and snatched her science notebook from her desk to a blank page to begin jotting down notes for entries she would write later, suddenly struck by memories as they occurred to her out of order.

Everything seemed out of order, and Max was still having a hard time accepting that she had experienced this entire week before only in another dimension, that she had even experienced a completely _different_ dimension altogether when she saved William, and when she went to the Everyday Heroes event with Principal Wells. She wondered if there were any others, other timelines she no longer remembered, like the one in her dreams…

Before she knew it, she opened her notebook to another blank page and began writing about Dream Chloe and her truck barreling down a wooded highway, parallel to the coastline, kissing her again and feeding her pancakes.

Her mother called as she scrambled to take down notes, eager to fill every page with every flash of memory that passed through her mind. Even as her mom spoke worriedly over the phone, Max was writing things down and hoping that she could make sense of it later.

Max’s parents made a point of coming to the funeral, almost as guilty about not keeping in touch with Joyce Price as she was about failing to call Chloe. They left not long after the service in an attempt to beat what passes for traffic around here in Arcadia Bay, forgetting just how different this place was than what they were used to in Seattle. As worried as her mom was about how Max was taking all of this, she was now worried about something else.

“We heard about your teacher this morning, it’s all over the news,” Max’s mom fretted over the phone. “You don’t have any idea why?”

“N-no, not a clue,” Max lied, playing a part she was only half-sure how to play. Max had no reason to suspect Mr. Jefferson of anything in this timeline, and anything she knew about him or his bunker might be considered suspicious at best.

“This is just,” her mother sighed audibly through the receiver, “This is just too much, Max. We really want you to consider coming home, taking a few AP art courses _here_ and –“

“I’ll think about it,” she replied, “I made some really good friends, here, and I feel weird just, I don’t know, _leaving_ them here.”

Her voice hitched even if she didn’t mean to.

“Aw, sweetie,” the guilt in her mother’s voice was evident in the weight of her enunciation, sighing again before almost whispering the name “ _Chloe_.”

Her parents knew just how awful she felt about it, about not calling, not visiting, not instant messaging, not even sending the girl a goddamn email. Max’s friends from Seattle were one thing, but they were never as close as she and Chloe were. And she already felt closer to Kate Marsh than she had to anyone else since Chloe, five years ago _and_ the week before – even if she was the only one left who remembered.

“Like I said, mom, I’ll _think_ about it. Maybe soon, I don’t know,” she mumbled. There was still work to be done. She needed to sort through her memories and the timelines she’d lived through, and she wouldn’t rest until Kate felt safe again. The thought of Kate standing in the rain on the roof of the girls’ dormitory haunted her mind’s eye for just a moment, instantly justifying her reasons for staying, even if the death of Chloe and the arrests of Nathan and Mr. Jefferson should have made her feel otherwise.

“I’ll see if we can come visit you again, soon. Maybe next weekend.”

“That would be _really_ nice, mom,” and Max meant it. Seeing William again and making the active decision to save him then sacrifice him left her heart aching still, and in the wake of it all she had to admit that she really _did_ miss her own parents more than she’d realized.

“Call us, _please_ ,” her mother requested before telling her she loved her and telling her to update them via text if she could, too. Max agreed, feeling painfully alone the moment the phone went dead.

 

* * *

 

 

She wasn’t sure what she was doing anymore, but after an afternoon of scrambled memories and making sense of timelines she was quickly forgetting every small detail of, she found herself sneaking into the boys’ dormitories with a backpack and an armful of books.

Despite all she was fast forgetting, she remembered where Warren’s dorm was. His slate was blank, but smudged as if it had recently been erased with haste. Balancing her stack of books in one arm, she bit the cap off his marker, holding it in her teeth as she redrew what she had a lifetime ago. Torn between feeling as if she was trying too hard to be nerdy or fearing that she was leading the poor kid on again, Warren’s door opened, startling her.

“Hey, I asked you guys to stop-“ Warren’s annoyed head appeared in his doorway, and Max could hardly stifle a laugh as she realized just how pleasant Warren still seemed when ticked off.

“ _Oh_ , it’s _you_ , Max,” his voice softened as his mouth eased into a surprised smile, “Wait, Max? How did you-?”

“Not enough time to explain!” she said, nudging her way into his dorm room, too impatient to be formally invited inside. “At least, not out here, anyway.”

She knew Warren would let her in whether he said so or not. Max felt bad about it but knew that she would go insane if she had to sort through dense theoretical books and scientific journals, as well as her own diary of accounts, all by herself.

“You _could_ have just texted me, you know,” Warren said, not sounding the least bit angry, though confusion laced his every word. “But I guess it’s not like we can meet in the library, huh?”

Warren scratched the back of his head as he checked the hall for any onlookers and closed the door once Max had entered.

“Oh, right, _sorry_ ,” Max shot him an apologetic look as she placed her books on the floor, sitting cross-legged beside them. “Wow, you’re room is so… _neat._ ”

There was nothing about Warren Graham that would have made Max believe that he was the organized type - nothing other than his unusual love for the Periodic Table of Elements, that is. Even his USB drive was a maze of files and oddly labeled folders and subsections.

“Oh! Speaking of which,” Max got back to her feet and fished around her pocket for the small USB drive that she never had the chance to return to Warren. In another lifetime, when Max was able to save Chloe from Nathan, she had had time to fetch the thing from Dana and finally give it back to him, but this time around the flash drive remained in circulation of the girls’ dormitories, its sci-fi splendors keeping their minds off of recent events as it travelled from laptop to laptop.

“Oh yeah!” he said, smiling gently at her as he plucked the USB from her palm, brushing his fingers a little too obviously over her hand, to place it in his desk drawer. “Glad to be of service. I’d ask what you thought of NEKromantik, but uh… do you wanna tell me what this is about?”

Warren gestured to the mass of books Max was now setting up into sections on his floor, sitting cross-legged across from her as she sat back down herself.

Despite his confusion, the interest in Warren’s eyes was obvious. Max instantly knew he was the right person to ask for help. Not only was Warren the most well-versed scientific student at Blackwell, aside from Brooke maybe, but he was always up for anything (which was not exactly how Max might describe Brooke, while she was on that note). He lifted books from their spaces while he awaited her response, reading their titles and nodding in approval before placing them exactly where Max had laid them moments before, careful not to disrupt her order of things.

“It’s kind of a long story,” she warned, looking up at him apologetically again.

“You know how I feel about long stories,” Warren replied with gusto, “Bring ‘em on!”

Max smiled, but she could tell her expression was pained. She felt bad doing this, but aside from Kate, Warren was her best friend. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him in return, but after everything with Chloe she couldn’t even begin to fathom liking anyone else right now. But even still, she felt as if she could trust him with anything, and that even if she rejected his advances in the end that he would understand. Warren was cool like that, or at least _human_ , unlike other boys who let hormones get in the way of their judgement (or treatment, for that matter) of the girls they liked.

Max inhaled deeply and braced herself against her massive spread of books, one hand on either end of her huge array of scientific and theoretical material.

“Good to hear it,” she started, “So, do you see a pattern here? Or…?”

“String theory, Einstein’s theory of relativity, _The Fabric of the Cosmos…_ uh, I’d say you’re straying into _Back to the Future_ territory here,” Warren said, picking out phrases and titles from the books on the floor as he scanned them. “But then you have _An Interpretation of Dreams_ over here, and _A Field Guide to Lucid Dreaming_ …”

“Okay, let’s start with _this_ -“

Max picked up a battered journal on Einstein’s theories and held it up as if she were selling it to Warren via a QVC special. Warren took the book gingerly from her hands and opened to the inside front cover, “ _Whoa_ , this was printed in the 80’s,” he smiled, before coming back to himself. “Sorry, gotta love old college books, right?”

The Blackwell Academy library was full of old curriculum material that looked like it was donated to from alumni, many of them old self-printed scientific journals like these, printed for students to use and write on in class. Warren flipped through the pages, revealing old pencil-scribbled notes in the margins and various diagrams written messily in red-pen.

“I wonder who this belonged to,” he said wonderingly.

“That’s cool and all, but this is serious Warren. I mean, yeah time travel and dream theories are groovy or whatever, but _I’m_ actually being serious. I didn’t just come here to show you a bunch of random books.”

“Wait, how did you get these anyway? The main building’s closed,” Warren asked, his expression slowly becoming serious at Max’s insistence.

“I snuck in,” she replied in a breath, but before Warren could press her further, she just dove into her real reason for being here before she drove herself mad.

“Okay, this is gonna sound crazy. Like _really crazy_. But I need you to trust me, okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure Max, always.”

Warren’s face was sincere, she could tell, and he was already trusting her. Maybe it was because of his crush on her, or the fact that he was already enough of a science geek as it was, but he didn’t seem shocked or annoyed that Max had appeared on his doorstep, unannounced and asking for help. He asked questions, sure, any sane person would. But she could tell by his voice that he had no presumptions and that he was ready for whatever it was she was about to say.

“Alright, _alright.”_ Max took a deep breath, more so for herself than for Warren, “Let me start off by saying that I’ve already explained all of this to you, well, _sort_ of.”

A flash of memory sparked as she spoke, a recollection of Warren at the Two Whales, helping Joyce usher in poor, hapless Arcadia Bayans into the diner during the storm. She’d have to tell Warren about that, too.

“Okay, so it all started last week…”

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t take Max as long to explain everything as she’d expected, and Warren listened in awed silence the entire time. Like the last time, Warren betrayed little doubt and trusted Max completely, asking her questions only where appropriate, and only for clarification and never out of suspicion.

“I know, this is crazy,” she said, but Warren stopped her, placing a warm hand over hers.

“You’ve said that about a thousand times already, Max,” he laughed lightly, exasperated but still enthused. “I _believe you_ , don’t worry. But like you said, this is… this is _pretty nuts!”_

Max knew he meant it in a good way, not that what she was saying for crazy for her to say, but that the idea of an alternate reality, of being able to manipulate time and change the course of events was something straight out of a sci-fi novel.

“ _Man_ , I wish I could remember it. Well, parts of it, I mean,” he recovered, trying not to sound insensitive.

Max only laughed, genuinely understanding what the dork sitting in front of her meant.

“You were _really_ into the surprise eclipse and the double moon, thing,” she said, thinking back on a different version of Warren, looking up at the sky in wonder at her side.

“Hell _yeah!_ I mean, even if that didn’t happen _now_ I’m really curious as to what that could mean for the environment, for the passage of time and the whole construct of it, and I- _oh,_ sorry, I should shut up-“

“No, no, no. Warren, this is _exactly_ why I came to you. I knew you would, I don’t know, _get it_. And that you’d _want_ to help, maybe, if not for me but for the idea of it, y’know?”

“Of course I’d wanna help you, Max,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “And I have to admit, this is some pretty cool shit. I mean, except for-“

“I know, _I know_ ,” Max thought of Chloe, but she was glad Warren was as on-board with this as he was.

“But what about this dream stuff?” Warren picked up her copy of _An Interpretation of Dreams_ again. “You know no one really takes Freud’s work seriously anymore, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, but I’m kind of desperate. I’m not sure _any_ of these will actually tell me about what I’m looking for, but I’ve been… I don’t know, dreaming, dozing off? And thinking of another place. Another _time_. Like I made a different choice in some other dimension and whenever my brain shuts off, I’m _there_ or something.”

“Like you chose to save Chloe?” he asked. Max nodded.

“I mean, it _could_ be wishful thinking, or a guilty conscience.”

“I thought of that, trust me, but it feels oddly real. Distant like a dream you can’t quite remember, but certain things feel real, _solid_ almost. Like last night I dreamed that Chloe brought me pancakes and when we were all watching Mr. Jefferson being taken away, all I could taste was fake sugary syrup in my mouth. Like the kind you find in those little plastic packets?” she sighed, “I don’t know, it could totally be my imagination but I don’t think my brain is that good of conjuring up the taste of syrup _that_ well.”

Warren nodded, but said nothing. Instead, he picked up a book and leafed through it, looking for the index. Once he found the page number he was looking for, he flipped back to the corresponding page, and read for a moment, but he only shook his head.

“I don’t know. But, _hm_ ,” Warren didn’t look at Max but somewhere off in the distance and nowhere at once, lost in thought, “What if…”

“Yeah?”

Warren opened and closed his mouth, almost speaking but thinking better of it, looking like a fish out of water, before finally saying, “What if… _Okay_. What if time is fractured, and because you’ve been at the _center_ of each new timeline you’ve created, your consciousness exists in both branches? Okay, so taking the space-time continuum theory a bit further, but not quite, _almost-“_ Warren jumped to his feet and padded over the whiteboard that hung over his desk. He erased a half-written to-do list with the sleeve of a sweatshirt hanging off a nearby chair and drew a straight line.

“Okay this is the normal timeline. Before the incident in the bathroom.” Warren drew a dot where the line ended and then drew two branches, “ _This_ is now, and _this_ is, I don’t know, an alternate dimension where you chose Chloe instead. Ignoring all the other timelines you mentioned, because that might be confusing. And I don’t have enough room, anyway.”

Warren spun around to gauge Max’s reaction with a silent _Got it? With me so far?_  Still sitting on the floor, she nodded in affirmation, encouraging him to continue.

“Okay, so consider that both timelines _still_ exist. Even if you’re in this one right now.” Warren extended the lines further, keeping them parallel.

“But what if, since you’d been travelling in time, making new decisions, changing things, and creating completely new branches of reality,” Warren drew a little stick figure between the lines, complete with a smiley face. “Now _you’re_ embedded in both of them. Since you created these timelines, you’re co-existing, with yourself… sort of.”

“I think I see what you’re saying.” Max got up this time, stepping around her spread of books and walking closer to the whiteboard. Not that there was anything to see, but she felt somehow more capable of thought when on her feet. “So maybe, _maybe_ , whatever is happening in my dreams is _real_. Somehow.”

“Is it that much harder to believe than time travel?”

“You’ve got a point there,” Max’s shoulders slumped. “ _Ugh_ , this is all just so… so _crazy!_ I mean, it’s one thing to ask you to believe me, but _I’m_ not even sure what’s real anymore. What if, _ugh_ , what if I dreamt up _all_ of this? What if I was just so, I don’t know, stressed and overworked, worried about school and my future, and guilty about not calling Chloe that I made all this up? What if this is just one long episode and I haven’t realized it yet?!”

Max collapsed onto Warren’s futon, cradling her head in her hands as her elbows jabbed into her knees for support. Warren sighed and joined her, but he didn’t get too close. As much as Max wanted human contact right now, she was glad that Warren kept his distance, lest he expect something of her despite the fact that she was not ready to reciprocate his feelings yet, or ever if she was being honest with herself. She felt weightless, almost unreal, and thinking too hard about her dreams and everything that had happened made her think she was disassociating or making things up, or she didn’t know. She wasn’t well versed in these things.

After a long pause, Warren spoke up again.

“In this other timeline,” he started, his words steady and slow, “Nathan pulled a gun on Chloe too, right?”

Max nodded.

“So… what about Mr. Jefferson?”

She had conveniently left that part out, still sickened by what happened to her back then, about what happened to Victoria, and what had _still_ happened to Kate and Rachel Amber, no matter how much she managed to change.

“Max?”

She turned to Warren, inching closer this time, because part of her was almost afraid. Afraid of the bunker in the abandoned barn. Afraid of Nathan’s trial and whatever dirt they had on Mr. Jefferson, if they even managed to _find_ any. She had no idea what was happening now. She figured Mr. Jefferson was arrested because Nathan had given him up – but was there evidence? Or was it just the word of a sick boy who needed help? A sick boy, indeed, but despite Max’s anger at Chloe’s death, she couldn’t act as if she didn’t feel sorry for Nathan Prescott, at least not even a little, not since what she’d learned.

“There’s another story I need to tell you.” Max said, her voice shaky and hollow, “And as crazy as the last one was, this one is the hardest one to tell.”


	5. Whatever Happened, Happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max feels a little calmer now that she's begun sorting through her realities, but some things still don't feel right, and time doesn't seem to want to stop to let her catch up.

 

“Okay, when the _hell_ was this one made? But more importantly, _why?!”_ Chloe threw the remote down onto the bed just as the credits began to roll, bouncing and bounding to the floor in the attempt.

“How can you base your opinion on a movie if you only saw the end? You slept through most of it,” Max laughed, looking up at Chloe’s veil of blue hair from the ground beside her.

“Goes to show how _riveting_ that piece of crap was,” she said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and joining Max down on the carpet of the hotel floor. She leaned into Max’s shoulder, lingering there longer than Max expected her to, as she glanced at her progress.

“ _Wow_ , you wrote all of this in an hour?”

Chloe’s voice hushed at the sentiment. She picked up a piece of loose-leaf from the floor and examined Max’s near indecipherable markings, turning the page this way and that as if it would make any more sense.

“I wasn’t really paying attention to the movie,” Max mumbled, looking over her old journal for a cross-reference.

“See? Bo- _ring_.” 

“I can’t remember _what_ the hell, or when the hell-” she was talking to herself now, or at least she had been before but Chloe wasn’t cognizant enough to hear her and make fun of her for it. But Chloe didn’t say anything. She glanced at Max sidelong, holding in her words like a baited breath, or maybe she didn’t know what to say.

“I think we should go out.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“I mean, get out of this room. Explore a little. Breathe a bit. Y’know, that old chestnut.”

“Oh,” she said, before the realization really struck her, “ _Oh_. Yeah, yeah I-I definitely think so.”

Without thinking, Max put her journal down and pushed all her stray papers aside, suddenly too sick to look at them.

“I definitely need a break. _We_ need a break. I mean, haven’t we been through enough? And to look back and _relive_ all of this, _again_ -?”

“Max, Max,” Chloe steadied her with a gentle hand, “ _Max._ ”

“Yeah?”

“It’ll be okay. Okay?”

Max stared blankly at her diary pages, her old journal, and the mess of a floor beneath her. Sorting through her memories was taking its toll, as if the past week’s events wasn’t enough. She let herself collapse into Chloe’s side, leaning against her shoulder as she took a breath and tried to forget. At least for now.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

Over the next week, Max tried to spend as much time as she could with Kate and Warren. Warren helped her sort through the sordid events of the past, or the present, or when _ever_ they happened to be focused on. As difficult as the subject-matter was, the scientific explanations Warren proposed (or _near_ -scientific explanations, anyway) helped engage other parts of Max’s brain enough to distract her, and everything hurt a little less. But even still, when she hung out with Kate, it was hard not to think of what had happened. Even if Kate was a little happier, Max feared it was because she was simply blissfully unaware. The uncertainty still gnawed at her, and though it settled Max’s nerves, it was still _un_ settling all the same.

She vowed not to consult her memories at night, only in the morning – they were easier not to dwell on that way. There was too much to think about, too much to remember, too much fodder for nightmares and restless sleep otherwise.

School was out, for now, but most everyone chose to stay on campus, except for those whose parents unenrolled them after the gun incident. Max couldn’t blame them. Mr. Jefferson getting arrested didn’t help, but most everyone at Blackwell had yet to find out _why_ he was taken in at all. There had been no word on the matter since then. Max felt queasy every time she thought about it.

“Max, honey, are you okay?”

Her mother’s question was innocent enough, but being asked how she was doing was not helping the wells of anxiety that overwhelmed her on a near constant basis.

“Yeah, just stressed.”

Max sat idly in the back of her parents’ car. They had come back to visit for another weekend, to see her before school started up again and to pay Joyce a proper visit this time.

Max’s mom turned around in her seat and smiled, understanding but troubled. She appreciated that they came, she really did, but her mother’s constant worry wasn’t exactly the thing she needed right now. She did that enough on her own.

Where they were going and why was no help, either.

“Can’t believe they still live in the same place,” her dad said as he pulled out of the Blackwell parking lot.

Max could believe it, of course she could. The house may not have been finished, but it was paid for. It was smarter for Joyce to stay than to, say, rent out an apartment for her and Chloe once William was gone. It was weird, though, seeing Joyce there with David, but despite all that had happened, Max was glad Joyce wasn’t alone. But she wasn’t about to voice any of this to her dad, who she knew was only trying to make conversation.

“Yeah, kinda weird, right?” Max’s voice was hollow, but convincing enough.

“It’s almost like we never left.”

 _We never should have_ , Max thought numbly. _At least, I should have been there, in letters or phone calls, primitive texts or instant messenges or…_

Max thought of Chloe all alone, without her best friend in the wake of her father’s accident, alone in the make-shift hospital bed in the reality where William never died, and alone at the lighthouse, that one last time.

Her parents made a point of circling around their old house and pointing out the changes that were made since they had moved before pulling into the Price Family driveway. Joyce and David met them out on the front porch, awaiting their arrival.

The last time Max had seen Joyce was at the funeral, and before that, it was technically back when she was in middle school. The trip to the diner with Chloe, the confrontation with David about his surveillance habits, and the storm – none of it ever happened. Not in this timeline anyway. She’d have to make post its about what _did_ or _didn’t_ happen. Even as Max carried the memories with her, it was like it had all been a dream. A very vivid, very fucked up dream.

Joyce formally introduced them to David on their front porch, because they had only met before under more unfortunate circumstances, standing awkwardly beside one another at Chloe’s funeral service. He almost seemed _nice_. Well, she knew the man meant well, but regardless of what he did in another life, he was still full of anger and aggression, something that never quite left him after returning home from war. Max’s arms remained crossed over her chest, as if relaxing might allow her to accept this world, the one without Chloe in it, and that acting as if everything was okay was somehow sinful. She wondered what Kate might think.

Max followed her parents in a daze, feeling as if she were travelling through a photograph again. Her mother caressed her arm the whole time, knowing how difficult this all must be, as she shouldered most of the awkward small-talk with Joyce. It had been a long time for them, too. Chloe and Max’s parents were friends once, if not good acquaintances. It was hard not to become something like family when your daughters were practically sisters, attached at the hip.

Ghosts of Chloe, William, and other versions of Max preoccupied her, but part of her felt as if she was allowing herself to disassociate on purpose, as if facing this reality would somehow make it more real than it already was. If she reminded herself of all the things that did happen, that _could have_ happened, this reality became just one of many again.

“So how are y’all holdin’ up?” Max finally heard Joyce say. The “adults” had been talking for some time now, but hearing Joyce redirect the conversation made Max’s heart jump into her throat. She wanted to tell her that she had tried to save her, and that she did for a while, but there was only so much that she could do, that maybe Chloe was still out there somewhere, in some alternate dimension – confined to a bed or barreling down a highway somewhere, Max wasn’t sure.

But she didn’t say anything. Max’s dad spoke instead.

“We’re hanging in there,” he said, though he took care to sound sheepish, knowing full well that they were fine and it was the couple sitting across from them that needed it more. But Joyce was always like that, even when William passed. But her parents wouldn’t say it outright. They knew Joyce was a proud woman and that she prided herself on caring for others, regardless of how thankless they may be… but maybe that was just Chloe.

“How ‘bout you, Max? I heard you’re up for a big prize at Blackwell,” Joyce turned to her, a smile spreading across her face. It was warm but it didn’t meet her eyes.

“Oh, uh, yeah, _yeah_ ,” she stuttered, suddenly aware of herself sitting stiff at the patio table.

A bird chirped off in the distance as the sun began to set, their barbeque dinner growing cold as they all sat around the picnic table out back with drinks in hand. Max barely remembered the evening, coming back to herself and the present at Joyce’s effort to sound enthused. She knew she still cared about her, if she wasn’t still a little angry for never calling, but she was trying. Max would have to try, too.

“Yeah, it’s this photo contest.” Max rubbed her tops of her thighs with zeal, unsure of what to do with herself but unable to stop her own fidgeting, her anxiety mounting, “The winner gets to fly to San Francisco with-“

_Oh no._

As if the conversation needed anything else to bring it down.

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry, I forgot that-“ Joyce started but Max stopped her as politely as she could.

“No, no, no, not at all. I just… I almost forgot myself.”

Max shook her head internally, suddenly aware of her parents’ eyes on her – no doubt worried, concerned.

“I’m not sure what they’ll do now that… well, I don’t think the contest is off completely,” she finished. In another life, Principal Wells took her to the Everyday Heroes event, but in this life she had not turned in a photo. She didn’t have a teacher to turn it in _to_. The deadline had been extended, as far as she knew, but there still weren’t details about classes or what would happen now. School would have to resume soon, but then what?

“I wish there was something I could’a done about it,” David said, defiant. He placed his empty beer bottle firmly on the table before them, looking the bottle itself in the eye as if it might have been Mr. Jefferson. “Had a bad feeling about that guy from the beginning. I just couldn’t place it.”

“Don’t blame yourself, David,” Joyce said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You hear about that all the time after an arrest or a-“ Joyce didn’t finish her thought, but swallowed whatever she might have said and continued, “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that whatever happened, or whatever he did, that man is behind bars, now.”

But for what, exactly? Max was still nervous about how all of this would go down now. In another life, David had come to her rescue, his paranoia paying off when he caught Mr. Jefferson in the act, leading to the discovery of everything he had done. But if that hadn’t happened this time around, then why was he in jail? Did Nathan rat him out? Did Mr. Jefferson hurt someone else? She had no way of knowing, at least not yet.

Max watched as David fidgeted with his empty bottle on the table as the others picked up their conversation again, diverging from Blackwell to talking about other things, Max wasn’t paying attention anymore. Now she was curious – what did David know, exactly?

Either he didn’t notice her watching him or he simply knew. Max would have to find out somehow, or at least she wanted to.  But she’d have to wait. She’d have to find a way.

 

* * *

 

 

Back at her dorm room, Max finally calmed down – well, sort of. A note had been shoved under the door, though she almost didn’t notice it among the other haphazard papers strewn about her floor. It was a notice with the Blackwell Academy Seal on the envelope, but the paper had been torn, and next to the part where it was addressed to _Maxine Caulfield_ in fine lettering, there was a scribbled set of devil’s horns and a tail.

Max knew that handwriting, she’d seen it all over her dorm room’s dry erase board and all over Kate’s – _Victoria._

“That little-“

But before Max could mutter a curse and damn the girl across the hall, Max’s eyes skimmed over the letter, informing her that in lieu of Mr. Jefferson’s absence that the art program would adopt an independent study approach, each student paired with a classmate to complete a project and the winner would go to the contest.

At the bottom of the letter were two columns, each listing names and pairing them up.

Max didn’t have to read further to know who her partner was, and who she’d be spending every Monday, Wednesday and Friday with for the rest of the semester – _son of a bitch._

Max shot a glare through her cracked doorway, finding Victoria’s door across the hall slightly ajar. She tiptoed to the door jamb, thinking up something fierce, some sort of retaliation to draw up on little Vicky’s own dry erase board.

But in the quiet of the dorm hall, Max could only hear a soft sobbing, and she had the heavy feeling that it was Victoria, crying herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for the delay. Working on several fics, including one-shots and novel-length pieces, really take a lot out of me - not to mention real life. But now that I'm getting into the prequel game I've been thinking about this again and am planning on finishing it up this year. Thanks to all of you who've given it a chance and checked it out :)

**Author's Note:**

> After finishing this game the second time around, a whole year later, I started writing this fic as soon as the credits rolled. I decided to revisit this gem of a game in preparation for another writing project I'm working on that takes place in a high school, but I figure this little fic will work as good practice if nothing else. I'll probably edit the tags as I write more, and I plan on updating regularly. I bookmarked a bunch of other fics on here and plan on reading them in the days to come as well, but in any case, I hope you guys are interested and enjoy! :)


End file.
